


Phantom Dance

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Awakening trio shenanigans, F/M, Kinda unrequited?, Laslow is the odd man out, Pining, Xander's just a worried old man, kinda laslow-centric, spoilers abound!, up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6782365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t think of anything but nights with you. I want them warm and silvery.” -Zelda Fitzgerald </p><p> </p><p>
  <i>(Laslow watches as happiness unfolds around him, trying and failing not to think of where his own happiness wanders.)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Dance

Laslow sees the tankard in Odin's hand and a smirk splits his face.

"Odin, my friend," he calls to the mage, making his way across the mess hall. The blond looks up, unfocused eyes searching for the source of his name before settling on the swordsman.

"Laslow!" he cries earnestly, enormous grin splitting his face as he waves the other man over. He opens his mouth, doubtlessly to launch into some long-winded soliloquy, but his elbow catches a second tankard that sits on the table, and Laslow lurches forward to steady it.

"Many thanks, comrade!" Odin exclaims, and Laslow just rolls his eyes fondly.

"You had better not let your lord see you in such a state," he remarks, settling down on the other side of the table and arching an eyebrow.

Odin waves a hand carelessly through the air, and Laslow bites back a smirk at the lack of fluidity to the Dark Mage's usually graceful gestures.

"Lord Leo is _most_ forgiving," Odin assures him, giving his old friend a rather dopey smile that Laslow can't help but return.

"The best lords are," Laslow agrees, endlessly amused at the other man's antics as his fingers curl around the tankard. "So, tell me friend—are we toasting to victory or drinking to forget?"

He knows the answer of course—Selena wouldn't turn down the overzealous Dark Mage in a thousand years. Their love has survived three timelines, two Realms, and a fair amount of wars. It isn't about to end now.

Odin beams in response. "Victory, of course!" he cheers. "Selena accepted my proposal! Although she told me it was far too much, and if I ever embarrass her like that again she'll cheerfully run me through with her blade."

Laslow chuckles, lifting his mug in a toast. "That's our Selena," he remarks. Odin laughs in reply, and they both drink.

Odin had been planning his proposal for weeks now. Selena had wanted none of it, insisting that they had already technically been married, and all of this fuss was ridiculous, and she'll absolutely murder the both of them if she becomes to subject of camp gossip.

The Dark Mage had then taken both of her hands in his, stubbornly holding on even when she tried to tug herself free with a snarled, _"you are **embarrassing** me, Odin!"_ to say in a whispered voice intended only for the three of them:

_"Owain married Severa, but **Odin** has not had the honor of marrying **Selena.** I want every version of me to be bound to every version of you. For the rest of my life. For **all** of my lives."_

Laslow had politely averted his gaze as Selena cried noisily into the mage's robes.

The once-swordsman had even gone so far as to ask Laslow for his _permission_ to wed Selena. When Laslow had understandably balked _("What say do I have? We aren't related!")_ Odin had pleaded with him.

 _"I…I feel like it's the right thing to do,"_ he'd explained ever-so-quietly. _"The great heroes of legend…they always asked permission for the lady's hand in marriage. And there's no one else to ask. No one who would…you know. **Know."**_

Well, how could Laslow contest logic like that?

So he'd awkwardly given the blond his _blessing_ and _gods, Odin, don't ever tell her this happened or she will absolutely **murder** me._

Still, Laslow smiles cheerfully, feeling warmer than he has in ages as he looks around the mess hall for a flash of garnet hair.

"Well now, where has your lady love gotten off to?" he asks when his search proves useless. He tosses his friend a sly smirk. "Think she got cold feet?"

Odin's brow puckers as he takes another pull from his tankard.

"She said she wanted to collect something from her tent," he explains, frowning slightly to himself. "But she's been gone for quite a while. Perhaps I should check on her?"

Laslow shrugs. "I'm certainly not going to tell you how to behave around your wife," he remarks, drawing a pleased hum from his friend at the title. He then lowers his voice and inclines his head towards the mage. "But, if you _are_ leaving, I'd like to say something before you go."

Odin nods, setting down his tankard and leaning forward, the alcohol in his system causing him to misjudge the distance between the two friends. Laslow smirks as they bump foreheads.

"You are an absolute mess," the swordsman informs him with a wry grin.

"You have very nice eyes," Odin remarks, blinking owlishly at him.

Laslow snorts, rolling his eyes. "I'm happy for you, Owain," he says quietly, half-hoping the mage is too drunk to comprehend him, half-hoping he understands the solemnity of his words. "Truly. The others would be too, if they were here."

Odin gazes back at him, not a spark of understanding in his eyes. Laslow chuckles to himself, preparing to leave, when a hand suddenly clamps down on his arm, pinning it to the table.

Laslow lifts his gaze, startled at the look of stark intensity Odin levels at him.

"Odin?" the swordsman asks nervously, tugging uselessly on his arm to try and free himself.

"I wish she were here," the mage confesses quietly, and Laslow goes still. "I'm sorry, Inigo—" the mercenary tries not to flinch at the sound of his own name "—I…I would do everything in my power to bring the two of you together again, but I don't think I am—"

Laslow just holds up a hand to stop his friend's words.

"Those are thoughts best left alone, Odin," he tells the other man, his voice quiet but lined with steel. He clears his throat, trying to force a lighter tone. "You and Selena have each other. Your happiness is more than enough for me."

"Gods, Laslow, you're such a _sap."_

Both men rear away from each other to find Selena standing at her husband's shoulder, eyebrow arched and hip cocked. _So much attitude for one woman,_ Laslow thinks with a smirk.

"Well met, Selena," he greets her. "You look lovely. Marriage suits you."

She flushes darkly at that—a color on par with her hair—crossing her arms stubbornly and looking away. Laslow sees the gleam of a wedding band on her slender finger, and smiles to himself.

"Well, don't let me get in your way." He reclines back in his chair, making a dismissive shooing gesture with his hands. "Go on, get out of here. Go enjoy whatever it is married couples do."

Selena rolls her eyes while Odin tips him a clumsy wink. Laslow just laughs at them as they prepare to leave the mess hall, routinely stopped by other soldiers eager to bestow their congratulations on the pair's (second) marriage.

So caught up in his thoughts, Laslow starts violently when a second presence joins him at the table, snapping his head up to see Nohr's Crown Prince standing across the table from him.

"You must be very happy for them," Xander remarks, dark eyes tracking the couples' progress across the hall. They both watch as Elise throws her hands in the air with a shrill shriek of delight, and Niles pulls Odin aside, no doubt to impart some gentlemanly wisdom.

Laslow shrugs, watching as his lord claims Odin's vacated seat.

"My dearest friends have found lifelong love and companionship," he offers by way of explanation. "And the best part is they found it in each other, meaning I'll have one less household to visit when it is all said and done." He throws a smirk at his lord. "Two birds with one stone, no?"

Xander allows his retainer's answer with a quiet chuckle and a slight shake of his head. He settles back in the chair, studying Laslow from across the table.

"Peri told me something very interesting the other day," he begins, and Laslow immediately feels himself bristle. He is in _no_ mood for a lecture tonight, of all nights.

"Peri is full of interesting tales," he replies guardedly. "It's one of her many charms."

Xander looks askance at his retainer, arching one golden eyebrow, and Laslow swallows the rest of his commentary.

"She told me that in all the time she has known you, she has never once seen you with the same woman."

Laslow blinks, giving his lord a flat look.

"We are not about to have this conversation," he deadpans. "Prince Xander, _tell me_ we are not about to have this conversation."

Xander quirks an eyebrow. "You are avoiding the question, Laslow."

Laslow grits his teeth. "Peri has not known me quite as long as she might like to think she has," he grinds out, dimly aware this is _not_ an appropriate tone to pull with the Crown Prince, but unable to reign himself in. "And just how often do the two of you _gossip_ about me?"

"She is worried about you," Xander explains calmly. "We both are."

This pulls Laslow up short, and his irritation bows out immediately.

"Worried?" he repeats, frowning. "Whatever for?"

Xander shrugs, and Laslow could have snorted at the way his lord could make such an asinine gesture look elegant and princely. "You are a flirt, Laslow, endlessly chasing after women."

"And?" Laslow takes a swig from his drink. "We have discussed this before, my lord."

"And yet neither Peri nor myself have ever seen you talk to the same woman more than once—nor have we ever heard of you ever doing anything besides innocent flirting." Xander studies his guard, and Laslow takes a moment to reflect on the absurdity of the situation.

"Lord Xander. Please take a moment and think about what you are telling me," Laslow says carefully. "You almost sound as though you are _encouraging—"_

"That is ill for the heart, Laslow," Xander cuts him off. "It is much more rewarding to find one woman and do right by her. Much like your friend Odin has."

His words cut deeper than his lord will ever know, but Laslow covers it with a casual smirk.

"Know this from experience, milord?" he asks with a wry grin.

Xander silences him with a dark look. "You will never settle down, will you?" he asks, tilting his head as he surveys his guard.

Laslow frowns. "With all due respect, milord, you have little room to talk. You are very clearly wed to your work."

Xander waves the other man's comment away. "I am a Prince. The rules are different for me."

The retainer's frown slips into a scowl. "You could marry anyone you wanted," he argues.

"As could you," Xander counters. "Yet here we both sit."

Both men stare at each other, unsmiling.

Laslow adores his lord. Truly, he does. He would have sworn himself into service regardless—Selena and Odin had already been named as Lady Camilla and Lord Leo's guards respectively—but the fact that he genuinely respects and reveres the man he's promised to die for is certainly a nice bonus.

Laslow wonders—in another lifetime, one bright and full of promise—if he would have been Prince Owain's retainer. He swallows hard, quickly putting those thoughts to death.

"I live for the chase, milord, you know that." The old trope tastes bitter in his mouth—jaded and overused—but he flashes the Crown Prince a winning smile all the same. "It's not quite as fun when you finally have them, you understand."

Xander eyes the grey-haired man, smirking to himself.

"You insult my intelligence, Laslow." His rebuke holds no heat, but Laslow goes stiff all the same. "I do not believe you for a moment. You are the one of the most honorable men I know. There is no doubt in my heart that you have already promised yourself to another, and that is why you never entertain a woman longer than an afternoon, and you never do more than chat."

Laslow considers arguing the point—dragging up every last defense he has ever used when this topic is broached—he knows it is critical to his façade here to maintain the illusion of the untouchable savant, but he simply cannot find it within himself to do so.

Laslow sighs. He's too tired for this. Too old and miserable and just _tired._

"What do you want me to say, milord?" he asks, fixing Xander with a look of sheer exhaustion. "With all due respect, I'm truly in no mood for any sort of intellectual game at the moment."

"There is someone in your life," Xander insists quietly. "Please, friend. I do not wish to cause you discomfort, but if there is someone in this world who makes you happy, I implore you to find them." He watches the swordsman's face for any indication that he's overstepping himself, but Laslow stares back at him, expression expertly schooled.

"If she is a fighter, perhaps she could find work as a guard," he suggests, still searching the other man's bronze eyes. "Or if she is not, she could certainly be of service elsewhere in the castle. She could remain quite near to you, Laslow. I have that kind of power."

Laslow briefly entertains that idea of the girl— _his_ girl—in Nohr, with him and Odin and Selena. He wonders what name she would take.

"There… _is_ a woman in your life," trepidation coats his lord's words for the first time that evening, "is there not?"

The swordsman briefly considers denying it. If he plays his cards right, he's confident he can make the Prince drop the entire topic and never broach it again. It would be the wisest decision, certainly.

He sighs once more, frowning down at his near-empty tankard. _What is the point in lying?_ he thinks bitterly.

"There was a girl," Laslow confesses, his voice soft and pained. "And while I am… _humbled_ by your offer, my lord, she is far beyond my reach."

Xander lifts a questioning eyebrow, but does not press the issue. Laslow guards his secrets fiercely. He resolves to let it go for now.

Laslow stares at the candle lighting their little table. He hasn't allowed himself to imagine her face in so long, hoping he'd forget it and then maybe get some sleep at night.

"What was she like?" the other man prompts gently.

"She was elegant," Laslow murmurs, eyes on the flames, "and kind. Sincere in everything she said."

It all comes rushing back then, and the mercenary closes his eyes against the memories that threaten to overtake him.

He remembers trying to teach her to dance, laughing at her clumsy steps. He remembers watching her in battle, awed at her poise and skill. He remembers holding her—or had she held him?—when the night threatened to swallow them both and they felt as though they were the only real things left in the world.

Her radiant laugh. The way her nose crinkled up when she smiled. Eyes that shone like little galaxies in the moonlight. Laslow draws himself out of his thoughts to see the Crown Prince studying him with a solemn expression.

"You loved her." Xander does not ask so much as he states plainly.

"I love her still," Laslow admits, chuckling weakly. "I will always love her."

Suddenly seized by some desperate instinct to prove his words—perhaps it's the alcohol, perhaps it's the memories of her—he dips his hand beneath his tunic to withdraw a simple ring that hangs on a chain. Xander's eyes widen slightly at the sight.

"It was my mother's," Laslow answers his lord's unasked question. He glances down, rolling the thin golden band between his fingers. "She gave it to me, to give to the woman I would marry."

"You never got to give it to her," Xander guesses.

"Never could find the right time," Laslow remarks, tucking the ring back under his shirt. "We were always rushing off to face some calamity or another."

"War is a terrible time for love," the Crown Prince offers sagely.

Laslow just scoffs under his breath. Death and destruction flash before his mind's eye—he sees his parents, _her_ parents, everyone's parents all dead as a dragon's roar echoes in the night. He sees her face—watches her delicate, graceful features harden to steel, until her expression could have been carved from stone as she gazes down at the casualties that surround them.

"War is simply a terrible time," Inigo murmurs back. He doesn't ask to be dismissed, he simply rises from his seat and leaves, the ring that rests against his chest suddenly weighed down with the memories of his last life, hanging around his neck like a noose.

**Author's Note:**

> _I love the little Awakening trio okay I love them so much I just want them to be happy forever_
> 
> Anyway, have a fic.
> 
> It was such a delightful surprise to see Severa and Owain carried over to If/Fates, because they were my fucking OTP in Awakening, so of course I paired them up again. That left Laslow the odd man out, and though I'm sure he was a super good sport about it, he probably wished for whatever girl he was paired with in the other game, too.
> 
> I personally love the pairing of Inigo and Noire—Tharja's cute little archer daughter—but I realize that's not a super popular ship so I left it ambiguous. Laslow could be pining after pretty much any of the girls from his timeline.
> 
> I like Xander and Laslow's relationship, and I hope their interaction came off okay.
> 
> It got a bit dark at the end but fuck guys, this is Fire Emblem. We can never have nice things.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://dominodebt.tumblr.com/) if you're into that kind of thing. You should send me requests there!


End file.
